Oftentimes we think of a non-linear plot as one that takes the average point-A-to-point-B sequence of narrative events and jumbles them, revealing information via flashback or taking massive jumps in time. Something that is unique to comics – and something that few modern comics fully take advantage of – is the format’s ability to deliver a narrative that exists fully outside of a linear structure, that doesn’t just rearrange time but refuses to play by its rules. Molly Mendoza’s “Stray” (Bulgilhan Press) is a book that understands the medium and uses it to its fullest; it’s a book where the past, the present, the actual, and the surreal all coexist within the same moment, to glorious and gorgeous effect.
Written and Illustrated by Molly MendozaCover by Molly MendozaStray follows Jack, a chaotic romantic spiraling into disaster desperately seeking comfort in others while ignoring their own destructive tendencies. While thoroughly hung up on the past, Jack meets Stray and their whole world changes. Tender and sensual, lush and palpable, Stray ushers in a new era of cartoonist Molly Mendoza’s wholehearted approach to making comics and telling stories.
What begins at a straightforward starting point – Jack, a dark-haired force of nature with copious emotional baggage, reminiscing to their friend about Amelia, the one that got away – quickly turns fluid. It slides from images rooted in reality to abstract representations of the impression Amelia left on Jack’s heart, and the ghost that she left in her absence.
If that sounds too cerebral and representational, it’s not. Mendoza renders “Stray” with vivid colors and a flexibility of style that pump the pages full of energy and passion. Though you could stop and pour over any single page or panel of “Stray” to marvel at the beauty of the images, the book’s refusal to obey narrative expectations makes for a reading experience that invites you forward. Although the progression of images often eschews literal interpretation, the narrative forms a sequence that feels emotionally true, even if it would be impossible to track specifically what really “happens” in the story.
That emotional truth is a function of the greatest strength of “Stray” – its openness and flexibility. That quality makes for a book that’s difficult to pin down, but it also makes it remarkably empathetic. Rather than spend all of its 52 pages developing Jack’s perspective, “Stray” takes time to fold in the voices of others, giving Amelia the mic for several pages in a move that deepens our understanding of both characters. These narrator switches – and this is not the only instance of that – are just one example of the fluidity of form harmonizing with the emotions of the story. Jack is a character that feels lost, directionless, and at odds with themself; as they try to make sense of who they are as a person (and what they need out of a partner), the reader is following similarly turbulent visuals. Reading “Stray” feels like reading a song, or an emotion. It is a graphical representation of the shifting, primal way that we process our traumas.
It is fitting, then, that the largest turning point in the book comes from the introduction of the titular Stray, a creature that exists between identities. Part lover and part rescued animal, Stray cannot provide Jack the stability; in their feline form, Stray is once rendered as a cat with two faces and eight legs, two bodies overlapping and moving in different directions. In this kind of work, thankfully, stability hardly feels like the desirable outcome. Instead, what Stray provides is guidance, a reliable presence to accompany Jack through their ever-shifting existence.
In a way, Stray’s flexible-but-reliable character mirrors Mendoza’s approach to the material. Stylistically, Mendoza’s art is difficult to pin down, switching from rendering illustrations with sharp detail to suggesting the shape of a face with a few simple strokes. Accented by their gorgeous watercolors, Mendoza’s world is always uncertain but never confounding. Rather, they capture the way that uncertainty feels, providing a sure hand that guides the eye through the sea of complex emotions on the page.
That web of emotions ultimately draws out one of the limitations of the book; at just 52 pages, there isn’t enough time to slow down and fully unpack everything at play between the characters. The characters are compelling, and as unsolid as their world is it still feels wholly alive, but there is a sense of incompleteness to each of the fragmented segments of “Stray.” It’s hard to shake the feeling that we’ve left each character a few moments too soon, that if we lingered on them a touch longer we might be able to reach an even more profound truth. The effect of this somewhat works in the story’s favor – the elusive, ethereal nature of each of the characters evokes an open-endedness that speaks to the larger embrace of uncertainty in “Stray – but on the whole some more specificity could have helped to accent the elements that were intentionally left obscured.
Overall, “Stray” is a book that embraces fluidity of all kinds – of gender, of form, of species, of narrative – in a way that is refreshing, laudable, and deeply moving. What’s key to the book’s success, and what makes it genuinely unique, is that the fluidity never feels aimless or indulgent. “Stray” channels its lack of limitations into an entrancing, emotional ride that’s stunning from start to finish.
